we tunnel out / of the blacklick woods, half apple / throated & sneaker
slick. if there was a word for the opposite of grief / it would be swing
set. it would be an emergency / of deer. or maybe it would be a joke
about how i am difficult to love / only because i spend so much time
thinking about how difficult i am to love. / in the backseat the little dog’s
eyes pitch to the roof, like quarters lost / in a rainy parking lot / face up
& hopeful / asking for their mother, the moon. / the swans are gone
here’s a spoon. please come again soon /sing into the Tupperware
i’ll keep you/ cool let’s eat leftovers in the shower / folded together
like wet paper / & we become pearl pink prescriptions / carbon copies
& useless receipts/ thirst is touch / let’s get carried away
Alyssa Froehling grew up outside of Chicago, Illinois. She is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at The Ohio State University and poetry editor of The Journal. Her poems can be found in the Mid-American Review, Radar Poetry, juked, and F(r)iction, where she won the Tethered by Letters 2017 spring poetry contest judged by Maggie Smith. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with her dog.